


Journey

by darwinzfinchez



Series: The Wolf Cub [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Character of Color Written by White Chick, Disabled Character written by Able bodied Author, Domestic Violence (Vague references), Kid Fic, M/M, M/M written by Straight Girl, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinzfinchez/pseuds/darwinzfinchez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation from "Rebellion". Begins after the series finishes. Charts surviving characters' journey through the Alps and beyond. Will be multi chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Alps

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know if I forget any tags or trigger warnings. Will be some violence and nastiness in later chapters. I have no medical qualifications and no idea how well or badly injuries to the hand tend to heal, so apologies for any blatant medical inaccuracy. And, though I was taught German at school, I apparently didn't really learn it, so had to resort to google translate.

That night, we built a fire, feeling ourselves far enough into the Alps that the benefit of a fire - frightening off wild animals, allowing us to cook the food carried by the non-combatants - outweighed the risk of bringing Romans down on us. Nasir stalked around outside edge of encampment, allegedly as lookout, though I thought him simply too restless to sit down. A group of women attempted to adopt me, urging me to sit with them, offering to comb my hair. But I remembered how they had looked at Lupa, and whispered about her while she was alive. They did not consider her a proper woman – they thought her strange, with her armour and her swords. Never mind that she would have laid down her life to preserve theirs. Agron sat on the other side of the fire, staring into the flames, his face absent expression. He had known Lupa, and respected her. I wriggled out of the red haired woman’s grasp and approached him. Strange, how my abject fear of men had morphed into a disdain for women.

“Hello, cub.” he said, raising an arm so that I could crawl under it and have his arm around me. Feeling a sudden rush of sadness for Lupa, I bowed my head and did not reply, and Agron did not press me. I tried to suppress a sob, and failed, and Agron’s arm tightened around my shoulder.

“The pain of loss will fade, a little, with time. Though you may always carry it with you.”

“I know. I recall my mother.”

“Of course! I had forgotten that you had known any other mother but the Wolf.” he looked down at me. “You have suffered much loss for one so young.”

“As have you.”

He laughed. “I am not so young as you. I lived my whole childhood with family intact.” He frowned. “I never thought such to be a true blessing before, yet it is.”

“Where is your family now?”

“I know not.”

I looked down at the hand which encircled me, at the bandage around it. I had noted them before, but never asked about them.

“What happened to your hands?”

I felt Agron stiffen beside me.

“Injured when I was yet prisoner of the Romans.”

“Oh.” I had expected more detail, yet was not sufficiently concerned to press the issue. “Well. They will heal, with time.”

“They will not.” He spoke with a tone of finality, enough to make any young child contrary.

“Yes they will. See.” Remembering how my mother had kissed away the pain from my injuries when I was yet a slave, I grasped Agron’s hand in mine, and pressed my lips to the cleanest part of the bandage. Seeing that the other hand was similarly injured, I repeated the action on the other side, as Agron shook with laughter.

“Better.” I said, with an even greater air of finality, and Agron shook his head fondly.

“Sleep, cub.” he said, grasping his cloak with difficulty and drawing it around me as he pulled me into his lap, cradling me in his arms.

The heat from the fire was too hot, and Agron yet wore his armour, which dug painfully into me, and my chest and soul and very being ached for the loss of Lupa, yet I slept.

**

I awoke on the ground beside a slumbering Nasir, with Agron standing over us, scanning the horizon. In the grey light of dawn, most of the adults lay still asleep, though one or two children were beginning to stir. Agron watched them with narrowed eyes. As if sensing that I watched him, he looked down at me, and pressed a finger (in truth, the whole of his hand) to his lips, and gestured to the ground, indicating that I should remain at rest. But I was awake, instantly and completely, in the usual manner of children, and shrugged off the cloak under which I slept and stood up. Agron rolled his eyes, and started as Nasir stirred at our feet.

“Do not fucking wake him!” he whispered. “He has had a scant few hours’ rest!”

Nasir’s eyes opened, and he looked blearily up at us.

“Do not let her wander.” he admonished, and took the cloak that I had abandoned, draping it over himself and rolling over. Agron looked at me apprehensively. I smiled wickedly at him, though I had no intention of wandering, and he made a grab for me with his useless hands. I dodged him easily, only to walk around Nasir and arrive at his side. He eyed me suspiciously, and I returned an innocent expression. Sighing deeply, he withdrew from Nasir’s presence to the edge of the campfire’s light. I followed him.

“Were my hands not ruined, I would be for hunting.” he said, looking around him. “There is game in these foothills, and doubtless fish in the stream, yet neither you nor I have skill to catch them.” I looked at his injured hands again. Though I had been defiant, he had stated clearly that they would not recover, and I did not think him a fool. They remained almost in the position they had been since I had seen him first – fingers slightly bent, knuckles straight. I put my hand in his. He looked down at it.

“Hold my hand.” I said, and he moved his thumb, two of his fingers remaining still, the others twitching. He looked down sharply, and removed his hand from mine. Bringing his hand up to level of his eyes, he frowned in concentration and managed to twitch his fingers again. Was it imagining, or did his lips form something like a smile?

“What of plants?” I enquired, and he looked down at me, a frown on his face.

“Plants?”

“Yes, plants. People eat of berries and mushrooms, as well as game, do they not? If you know which are good to eat, we can gather some for the others.”

“Berries and mushrooms!” Agron groaned. “Women and children can eat of them, but men need meat.”

“If I can eat them, you can.” I insisted. “Do you know which ones are safe?”

“I do not know the plants of this region. I barely know those of my own. I never concerned myself with such.”

I thought my plan a failure, but someone overheard us, and offered their knowledge to help us gather edible plants. Venturing into the forest with him and Agron, we found a bush covered in berries for us to eat. Agron yet had control of his thumbs and, though he could not grip weapon, he could grip something as small as a berry with sufficient force to twist it from branch. To see him so pleased to be able to do something so simple filled me with unease, and I studied my own hands. Each finger moved as I commanded, the whole thing moving easily to whatever purpose I set. I barely had to think on it. Agron was too engrossed in berry picking to notice my sudden fascination with my hands, for which I was grateful.

We returned to campfire to find Nasir sitting up, just awakening from slumber and beginning to look around to see where we had gone.

“We brought food!” I exclaimed, rushing to him and throwing my arms around his neck in a sudden rush of exuberance.

“Berries.” Agron apologised. “The most a cripple and a child could provide.”

Nasir’s face twitched, and he stood up, pressing his forehead to Agron’s before he took a berry from the proffered basket.

“The taste is sweet, yet I fear the quantity insufficient for our number.” he said. He picked up his spear, which lay beside him. “I will seek out game in the forest.” Agron watched him go, his face a mask.

“I do not want game.” I declared loudly, reaching up to take more berries. “Only berries.”

“That is because you are a child, and do not know what is good for you.” Agron replied, laughing, as he held the basket beyond my reach. “You have had too many already.”

“No! Give it to me!”

“No.”

He ignored my complaining, and would not give me more. Nasir returned in time, bearing two rabbits and a sour expression.

“Why do you frown?” Agron asked, and Nasir threw himself to the ground at his side. 

“I am no fucking hunter.” He looked with disgust at the two rabbits, and at the number of people round the fire. “I cannot feed all these people.”

“You said once that you were no fucking soldier, only to become decorated lieutenant of Spartacus.”

Nasir laughed, and rested his head on Agron’s shoulder. 

“I had months to learn how to fight, and we are hungry now.”

“You were thrown into conflict days – no, hours – after you first grasped sword.”

“And came close to death.” Nasir indicated the scar on his side. “I would not repeat experience through starvation. Nor drag these people to the brink of it.”

Agron passed an arm around Nasir’s shoulders.

“Set all to task who may be of help in hunting game. Caius and myself will see all others to gathering useful plants. We will get these people to the far side of the Alps, beyond reach of Rome.”

Nasir looked up, and looked around him. 

“Do you suppose that Rome yet pursues us?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” he looked at me. “Roman soldiers fell upon the other division of non-combatants, did they not?”

“They did.”

“Did many escape?” 

“None that I saw. Only me.” I felt the pressure of tears behind my eyes and set my jaw, determined not to cry.

“They may not have true count of women and children in the mountains, and think that they found them all. They may, in flush of victory, choose to return to Rome rather than track down a few dozen more freed slaves.”

“Yet there are enough of us to be easily tracked, and if a Roman scout finds one of us, all are doomed.” Nasir looked around. “Perhaps we should split into smaller parties, harder to track.”

“And meet up on other side of mountains?”

“Perhaps.” Nasir looked up at Agron. “Dependent upon destination.”

“Cease speaking in fucking riddles.”

“There are many Gauls among us. They would strike West, into Gallia. If we are for Germania, we should set ourselves North.”

Agron studied Nasir.

“Are we for Germania?”

“A German and a Syrian seem like to fare poorly in Gallia. In Germania, we would have advantage of your knowledge of language and custom.” 

“We are not for Syria, then?”

“I know nothing of the country or its people. Nor memory of my family, if any yet live. I recall no Aramaic-” Nasir spread his hands “To make for Syria in blind hope would be folly. Germania would seem to offer more hope, if you wish to return there.”

Agron did not reply with words, instead cupping Nasir’s cheek and kissing him. I stood abruptly and went to join the other children in play, followed by the sound of Nasir’s laughter. 

**

Decision was made, and those of us for Gallia split off from those of us for Germania. The woman with the baby born in the rebel camp was for Gallia, as was the red haired woman, who counted her as friend. There were some motherless children whom she – Laeta, I learned her name was – took it upon herself to care for. She would have included me, but I recalled too well her cruel words and sideways glances at Lupa, and could not accept her touch. Besides, she was near a stranger to me, while I had known Agron and Nasir, a little, since I first came upon the rebels. 

They never sought me out, but never had to, since I was almost always at their side. Agron never called to me at night time to sleep by his side, but when I crept up to him and curled up at his side, he never tried to shoo me away, merely saying “Good night, Cub.” and draping his own cloak over me. And in the morning I would always wake with Nasir by my side, his cloak replacing Agron’s. I learned not to wake him, allowing him to rest from taking the first watch through much of the night. Agron could be found in these grey hours of early dawn, patrolling the edge of camp as lookout. I joined him and tried to imitate his stance as he scanned the horizon, training my young eyes to detect slightest movement which could be a wild animal about to attack the camp, or a Roman scout who would alert a larger force to our position, so that we could be attacked. I would keep with him until other children awoke and I could play with them.

As we walked, I would often run around with other children, yet when I did not, I walked, apparently unseen, beside Agron and Nasir. Agron taught Nasir German, and as Nasir hesitantly, haltingly, repeated the words, I committed them, in silence, to memory. When time came for us to divide from those who were for Gallia, Laeta drew me to her as farewells were being made.

“You are for Gallia, with me, little one.” she said. She did not know my name, hardly a grievous offence, all things considered. There were many unwanted children in her care whom she knew well, while I went to great lengths to avoid her. I wriggled out of her grasp and ran to throw my arms about Nasir’s waist. He looked down at me, and made attempt to smile, yet it shook, as if in sadness. He crouched down to my level.

“Do you come to make farewell, little one?” he enquired, and perhaps his voice caught in his throat, yet I did not take note of it.

“No!” I said. “I would stay with you!”

Nasir’s lips parted in shock, and he looked up to where Agron stood nearby, in conversation with a Gaul who was to accompany the company – constituting many women and children – who were for Gallia. Nasir turned back to me.

“I thought you would seek company of women.” he said.

“I want to go to Germania, with you and Agron.” I said. He frowned a little, and glanced up again as Agron strode over to us.

“Is this where we part, Cub?” he asked. And then I unleashed my secret weapon.

“Ich will mit dir gehen.” I want to go with you. Agron, unlike Nasir, laughed.

“I thought you lingered by our side more than expected. You sought to learn my tongue, you cunning brat!” He crouched before me, like Nasir, and his face turned serious. “We will travel far further than those bound for Gallia. We will go further north, and it will be colder. We can try to carry you, but you must walk most of the way yourself. We may give you furs, but you will still feel the cold. It will be easier for you if you choose to accompany Laeta to Gallia. Yet if you wish it, we will take you with us.”

“Mit dir. Bitte.” With you. Please. I had to make the best of the small amount of German I had gained from eavesdropping.

Agron snorted with laughter, even as I thought I saw tears spring to his eyes. He held out his arms for me and I threw myself into them.

“It is decided, then.” he said, in Nasir’s direction. “She is with us.”

“It will slow us down.” Nasir cautioned, though I do not think he really meant to discourage Agron from accepting me. “A hardy child she may be, yet still a child, requiring more rest than either of us.”

“It matters not. We have the rest of our lives to gain the Rhine.”

“She has no furs, barely any clothing, not even shoes. All were lost in the attack by Romans.”

“We can find her more before winter truly sets in.”

Nasir looked down at me.

“You are certain?”

I nodded.

That was how I gained my two fathers.


	2. Germania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having passed through the Alps, the survivors from the rebellion strike North, into Germania.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets really quite dark (tags have been updated), and contains discussion of child sexual abuse and child prostitution, with reference to a very young child. I found bits of this quite tough going when I was writing them, so they might be a bit tough to read as well.

For a time, we travelled with other German people. Agron and Nasir sold off their horses, and their armour, piece by piece, to buy shoes and cloaks for the cold and unshod. People began to fall away from our party, as they found places for themselves in the towns and villages we passed through. A woman who had been a slave a scant ten of her forty-some years sought to return to her husband and children, who would now be grown. Meeting someone from her village she departed with him, Agron watching them leave with a grim look on his face.

“You stand displeased at prospect of her reunited with family?”

“She has been absent ten years. Her husband may have remarried, and not welcome sight of his true spouse. The one she walks with may not be who he says he is, may betray and murder her.”

“Why did you not accompany her, if so concerned?”

“I speak of possibility, not certainty!”

“You should lay more trust in your fellow man.”

“I was right to mistrust the Cilicians!” 

“And wrong to mistrust Castus. To mistrust me.”

Agron turned from sight of the retreating woman’s back, to look at Nasir.

“A mistake deeply regretted. I lay faith in you now, more than any other.”

**

The next to leave our number was a young woman named Adamaris whose prettiness I admired from distance, and who became caught up in conversation in marketplace with a young farmer while Agron was attempting to sell fur of rabbits caught by Nasir. Nasir remained silent, not wanting to give away his accent. The farmer offered us food in exchange for a day’s work in his fields, and even included Agron, though he scowled at him.

I had to work too, gathering the first ripened grain of autumn, though I could only reach the low stalks. I wondered at how one so concerned with getting his grain gathered quickly would do no work himself and distract one of his hired hands by engaging her constantly in conversation. Agron glared at him. Nasir bid him lower gaze and not anger the man, though I myself did not think him frightening. 

“He seeks to create debt.” Agron asserted. “She does no work in field, he will have her work in his bed.”

“If he attempts such a thing, we will leave. There are a dozen of us and one of him, he cannot hurt her if we band together to protect her.”

“If he attempts it and we leave, we will have worked all day for no pay.”

“Well, cease work then.”

Agron continued in his work, and at day’s end we were fed – more than we had had to eat since leaving the rebel camp. Mindful of Agron’s suspicions of the man, I crept round the fire to listen to his conversation with the girl Adamaris. He doubtless sensed my presence after moments, but waited till some time had passed before he turned to me.

“Do you seek me, little girl, or Adamaris?”

Embarrassed, I fled to sit in Agron’s lap, and tell him what I had overheard.

“His family all died in spring, of a fever, except his sister, who lives with her husband in the village. He is forced to hire men to help him run the farm, and fears he will bankrupt himself. He wants a wife, so he can rebuild the family he has lost.”

Agron scoffed.

“A tragic story.”

“As are all of ours.” Nasir pointed out.

“You believe it?”

“What other explanation for empty house, and large farm too big to be run by one man?”

There was a pause, while Agron considered.

“Perhaps he killed them all.”

Nasir responded to this with hysterical laughter, while I froze in terror, and wound my arms more tightly round Agron’s neck, that he might protect me from the murderous farmer.

We remained at the farm a few days more, until it became apparent that there was little work for us, and less food. Adamaris elected to stay, as did a few other young people seeking work on the farm. When the harvest began in earnest there would be more than enough labour to occupy them all. The farmer attempted to persuade Agron and Nasir to stay, but they were determined to move on. We were close enough to the Alps that the occasional party of Romans found their way there. More commonly, slavers working for the Roman Empire passed through, and there were stories told of travellers drugged into sleep by unscrupulous innkeepers and sold into their hands. The mere mention of slavery made dread slide into my stomach, and I suspected that Agron and Nasir felt the same. The further north we travelled, the less worth their while it would be for slavers to venture.

Others among our number fell away, finding work or homes in places where the young, working population had been devastated by the plague which had raged through the region scant months earlier. Nasir and Agron yet pressed North, to where Romans never ventured and they would not be betrayed and sold into slavery, and eventually, the three of us were travelling alone.

Nasir’s skill at hunting increased, but not enough that we did not sometimes go hungry – even me, and both Agron and Nasir would each have given me all of their food had the other allowed it. Agron yet could not grip a weapon, and could not aid Nasir in hunting, but he and I devoted ourselves, when Nasir went off alone to hunt, to gathering edible plants. Agron was often greeted with fear and suspicion, due to his large size and intimidating stare, but I could, with help from him, gather information out of the local people about which plants were good to eat. Agron spoke to me and Nasir mostly in German, but our initially rapid progress had slowed, and we yet struggled with the shifting dialects and accents in each region through which we passed.

One day, Nasir returned to our camp dragging a deer he had brought down, and Agron lifted him off his feet and kissed him all over his face, murmuring to him too softly for me to hear. Nasir pushed him away, calling him a fool, but could not hide his grin.

“What can we do with so much meat?” Agron asked seriously. “It will spoil before we can eat all of it.”

Nasir had evidently been thinking on the subject while dragging the beast through the woods. “Butcher and skin it first. Sell the hide and some of the meat for coin, which we use to buy salt. Salt the remaining meat as best we can – it will feed us for…” Nasir made an expansive gesture. “Less time than we would like. But more than a fucking rabbit!”

The hide went for less than they had hoped, and the offal they sold for even less. But their plan to salt the remaining meat succeeded remarkably, and we ate like kings for days, even sparing precious coin to buy bread. I had not tasted bread in weeks, and savoured it. I had never thought that such a simple thing as bread would seem like greatest luxury.

I had grown thinner since leaving the Alps behind us, but wiry and strong. Nasir had likewise lost a little weight – his ribs could now be faintly seen when he breathed in, and the muscles of his chest seemed more defined. Agron had shrunk dramatically – the great muscles of his chest and arms, maintained in the past by constant training, had wasted away, since the most taxing work he was able to do was gathering plants, and, very rarely, carrying me. Agron and Nasir rarely had to slow their pace for me, even more seldom did they have to carry me. But there came a day when my step faltered, I felt slow and lethargic, and the two men strode ahead of me, having to stop and let me catch up.

I did not see Nasir turn and walk to me or kneel down in front of me – suddenly he appeared by my side, and I lacked energy to be startled. I stood and swayed before him as he passed the back of his fingers over my face and forehead, his brow creased.

“Her skin burns to touch.” he informed Agron.

“We have been walking in hot sun too long.” was Agron’s assessment. “She needs rest.”

“I hope it is so.” Nasir replied. He tugged me to the shade at the side of the road, and offered me water. I tried to drink, but wanted only to sleep.

“Just a few moments.” Nasir warned. “We must continue on path.” And true to word, it was but moments later that he pulled me to my feet and dragged me on, his hand gripping mine. When I stumbled and fell upon the road, Agron gathered me in his arms, Nasir helping to secure me in his grip as he straightened up. Agron carried me until we reached a small town, when debate turned to whether or not we should spend precious coin on proper food.

“She is exhausted, and undernourished. Proper food may be all that is needed to see her right.”

“If the gods have mercy, it will prove so.” Nasir replied.

I stood at Nasir’s side while Agron bartered with a stallholder the price of part of a chicken and a loaf of bread. When he turned away, satisfied, to speak to Nasir, he found another man engaging him in conversation. Nasir, whose German remained hesitant, could not follow what the man said. Seeing Agron, the man spoke to him instead. Whatever he said made Agron angry, and Nasir had to step between them, stuttering out apologies to the stranger while admonishing Agron as best he could without resorting to Latin, a language not spoken in these parts whose sound would rouse suspicion. When we were outside of town, on the lonely road again, Nasir demanded to know what had been said. 

“My German may be far from fluent, yet I recognised the words for Dark Haired Man, and Child. He spoke of me, do not seek to disguise his intent, not when it roused you to such passion!”

“He is…” Agron made an angry noise. “He is a tavern owner. He has a room therein in which his customers are… entertained. By whores. He offered me coin for your services. And the Cub’s.”

“Elena! But she is a mere child, not yet approaching adolescence! And rendered mute and listless by exhaustion and fever!”

“He thought her drugged. By us, to render her more… pliant.”

Nasir shifted me in his arms, holding me tighter. 

“Disgusting. And I, fool that I am, thought attraction to children to be only a Roman perversion.”

“Each race is possessed of villains.”

That night, I became frankly feverish, and the following day I could not walk, the world swimming and fading before my eyes whenever I attempted to stand. Though Nasir and Agron said that my skin burned with fever, I felt deathly cold and shivered, though Agron cradled me to him under his cloak until the heat became to much for him to bear and he had to set me down. Nasir left to attempt hunting, and returned with a rabbit, but I could eat nothing. We did not move that day, remaining in the same camp that we had been in the night before. By dusk, I was delirious, thrashing and crying out at imagined terrors.

“She needs a medicus.” Nasir said. “And a warm room with a fire, to sweat the fever out.”

“To achieve such would take all our remaining coin!” 

“To save the coin would kill her.” Nasir straightened up. “We must return to the town, and find a tavern in which to hire a room.”

“I would wager there is but one in a town of this size.”

“Then we make for that one.”

**

I have but dim recollection of being carried into town, and a rush of noise and darkness when we gained the tavern. Whimpering, as the noise hurt my head, I turned my face into Agron’s shoulder and he shushed me with unsteady voice. I recall a sudden quietness and the sound of feet on stairs, before I was deposited on a bed, and slept fitfully until strange hands parted my clothes and pressed on my stomach. I awoke and cried out to find a strange man examining me, and was trying to get away from him when Agron and Nasir appeared, Nasir holding my shoulders in place while Agron spoke to me in German, the only word I recognised being “Arzt”. Medicus. Too tired to resist, I lay still, allowing the man to examine my chest, feel my back and press at my throat to feel my pulse.

He pulled my clothes back into place and straightened up. Dimly, I saw Agron and Nasir standing before him with arms folded as he spoke in German. I sensed, rather than saw, Agron’s face darkening, and I saw him start towards the man, restrained by Nasir. Despite not yet having been paid, the man agreed to wait outside the room, where Agron could not reach him. With him safely behind the door, Agron and Nasir spoke rapidly, in hushed Latin.

“Did he say that her fever must be lowered?”

“He seeks yet more coin, for herbs to achieve such.”

“How much?”

“More than we possess.”

“And if her fever continues?”

“He says that her heart beats too fast, and may give out. And you see that it is only with great effort that she draws breath – she may become exhausted, and cease to do so. I – I do not know. He may be a rogue, seeking to obtain coin through unnecessary purchase, but if he is not…”

I saw Nasir wind his arms around Agron, and press a kiss to his jaw.

“We will think of something.” He held out his hand. “Give me the coin we have. I will pay the man and see him from the building.” Agron drew the bag out from his cloak and gave it to Nasir, who clasped his hand briefly, and lowered his gaze to me.

“Watch over her, until I return.”

Nasir closed door firmly behind him, leaving Agron to sit upon bed by my side and attempt to make me drink. He stalked the room for long minutes, listening for Nasir’s step upon the stair, until he suddenly stopped, and breathed: “That fucking cunning-” and struck the wall with his hand. I whimpered in fright, but he did not appear to hear me and stalked from the room, barrelling down the stairs. I heard raised voices, and the sound of blows exchanged, before Agron was propelled up the stairs again, though he still shouted in German at those below. I cried out his name, and he returned to me, sitting on my bed and stroking my sweat-damp brow, murmuring to me, though I was so exhausted and dull with fever that I could scarce determine in which tongue he spoke, let alone decipher words.

At length I must have slept, for I woke when Nasir returned.

“You were gone far longer than needed to escort medicus from building.”

“I made journey to apothecary, and made purchase.” Nasir said, and I heard him remove something from his robe. “Herbs, to lower fever. They must be boiled in water and drunk.”

“Purchased with what fucking coin!”

“Coin earned through seized opportunity.”

“Earned upon your fucking back!”

“Cease protest and lend aid – pass me that water skin.”

“Here!” I heard what could have been a full water skin striking a man’s arm, and a grunt of pain from Nasir.

“Control temper, I did what was needed to preserve life of sick fucking child!”

“Necessary coin could have been gained through other means!”

“If you have method for gaining such a quantity of coin with necessary speed, I would have great desire to hear it. I did not relish fucking transaction.”

“I would hope not.”

“You become cruel when angered.”

“Cruel! You name me cruel when you have… How can you expect me to forgive-”

“I expect nothing of the sort. There is nothing for you to forgive – you do not stand my dominus, and my body is not yours to buy and sell.”

“I claim not dominion, but fucking love! I am angered that you would place yourself in way of injury, as I would be if you allowed the Cub to fall to harm!”

“And what if I allowed her to fall to harm by failing to obtain necessary medicine?”

“I would not have you so endanger yourself absent consultation with me! Have we not always shared burden of hunger, and of work… as much as we can.”

“The man sought my services, not yours, when he came across us in the market. I stood better suited to work offered.”

“As you are to hunting, and skinning catch, and wielding weapon to protect us, and… Nasir!” His voice cracked on Nasir’s name, and I heard a thud which roused my curiosity enough for me to turn my head. The light of the fire illuminated the dark room, and made out the shape of Nasir, standing with Agron kneeling before him, his arms around Nasir’s waist and face pressed into his stomach.

“Regain feet, you great fool!”

“Forgive me. Forgive me. Fuck every man you see, if it brings you pleasure, and treat me only with harsh words and harsher silence, as I deserve, only do not fucking leave me, for I am nothing without you.”

“Have you lost fucking reason?”

“I yet retain enough to see myself for what I am – a burden, a drain on you and the child you grow to love as if your own, as I do. I would beg of you, though, to let me remain with you, for my heart beats only for you, and would cease within chest if removed from your presence.”

“Agron.” Nasir knelt to join Agron on the floor. “I fear you struck mad.”

“As I will you, if you claim not to see me for what I am. A cripple. A burden.”

“You are fucking neither! Your hands yet have power enough to hold me, to comfort me. And you are not burden, but vital to fucking survival! I knew no German, and yet know very little – I could not have made it this far north absent your knowledge of the tongue, and your teaching me of it. Myself and the cub alone could not have lasted this long. And know this.” he lowered his voice, and clasped the back of Agron’s head, pressing their foreheads together. “Had you been returned to me absent hands, and tongue, and eyes, and cock, you would yet be the greatest man I have ever known, and the only one I could ever love.”

They rose, as one, to standing position, and embraced so tightly that I could see no light from the fire between their bodies.

**

It must have taken them great effort to have me drink the boiled herbs – almost as much as it took me to drink them – but the three of us succeeded in endeavour. I awoke many hours later to find Nasir sprawled unconscious by my side, and Agron sitting against door in like slumber. My fever had broken, and I was suddenly bitterly cold, scrambling under the blankets and drawing as close as I could to Nasir and his warmth. He stirred and woke, blinking at me.

“Elena? He sat up, and felt my forehead, and the skin of my back. “Your fever is gone! Agron!”

Agron raised his head. “What is it – Elena!” He got stiffly to his feet, and made his way across the room. Repeating Nasir’s actions, he ran his hands over my face and back, and split his face with a grin. “She is recovered!” he turned to Nasir, and his smile faltered. Leaning over the top of my head, he pressed a kiss to Nasir’s lips, cradling his head in one hand. I slid down to attempt to continue sleep. Agron turned face towards window, from which light was streaming through shutters.

“Day has been broken these many hours. We must vacate premises, or expend more coin.”

“Not enough remains from last night to pay for another night.”

“I can walk.” I said sleepily. Agron looked down at me, and lifted me up in his arms, depositing me on the floor. Unused to standing on my own two feet, after days of being carried, I staggered and fell, to be lifted swiftly back onto the bed. Agron and Nasir exchanged a look.

“A day of rest would seem to be required.”

“I am for the innkeeper’s parlour again.”

“You are not!”

“Agron, attempt to see fucking reason!”

“I will break words with tavern keeper.”

“On what fucking subject!”

“You have sufficient keenness of mind to decipher such.” Agron straightened up, and Nasir tried to scramble off the bed and prevent him leaving.

“Agron! Stop!”

Agron turned when he reached the door, and cupped Nasir’s face in his two hands.

“You mocked my distress, yet it sickens heart, does it not, to see one so loved intent on self-injury?” He kissed Nasir’s lips, and drew away, leaving Nasir standing, shaking with rage. I retreated under my blankets and endeavoured to sleep.

Agron returned after very little time, and found me resting and Nasir pacing the room, grim-faced.

“You have broken words, then? And reached arrangement?” Tears seemed to threaten in Nasir’s voice.

“None were needed. I left tavern in search of its keeper, and came upon a man who sought to purchase my dagger. He offered less than its worth, yet more than enough for a further night here.”

“We had agreed to keep our weapons, in case of need.”

“To what point and purpose should I have clung to a dagger I will never again grasp? You have two of your own which you may set to purpose, in addition to your spear. Further weapons would be useless in my hands.”

Nasir lowered his gaze. 

“I bless the gods that you were spared my ordeal.”

“And you mine. Do not pretend that your heart did not lift to hear that I remained untouched.”

Nasir closed his eyes and submitted to Agron kissing his forehead.

“You yet withold forgiveness?”

“You spoke yourself – there is nothing for me to forgive, so I can forgive nothing.”


	3. The Wild North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang carry on travelling north, out of reach of Rome, but find that there are other dangers lurking in the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Contains a fair amount of Google Translate German. This isn't the end, though - I intended this to be three chapters, but I'm going to add a couple more.

Days later, we were sitting round the fire after a long day of walking. I was curled up and beginning to drift off to sleep, unaware of what the men were doing.

           “I see what you are doing.” Nasir said softly.

            “I know not of what you speak.” Agron replied, lowering his hand to his side.

            “You do. Let me see.” Nasir rose from his position on opposite side of fire to settle next to Agron. He took Agron’s right hand in both of his, and stroked the smallest finger and the one next to it – the fingers Agron had been endeavouring to bend.

            “Show me.”

            Looking anywhere but at Nasir’s face, Agron managed to curve the fingers in question a little. Nasir placed one finger against the two, and attempted to force them straight. After a moment of intense concentration on Agron’s part, he succeeded.

            Agron huffed out a great breath, as if panting from great exertion, and lowered gaze to the ground, even as Nasir attempted to meet it.

            “Your hand shows signs of recovery.”

            “It will never recover. You and I both know it. I may, in months or years, curl two fingers towards palm, yet I will never grip a sword, or wield an axe, or even a knife to cut fucking meat!”

            “What of a bowstring?”

            “A bowstring?”

            “If you could clasp a bow with this hand” Nasir placed two of his fingers in Agron’s other hand, hooking them behind his thumb, and used them to pull the hand towards him “No, hold your hand still.” Agron obeyed, without apparent effort. “See? If you can clasp a bow here, these fingers” he stroked the exercised fingers of Agron’s right hand “May be used to withdraw bowstring, and fire arrow.”

            Agron stared at his hands as if they belonged to another. Then his face darkened.

            “It could never work. It is the other fingers – the ones which lie motionless – which are used to withdraw bowstring.”

            “By those with full use of hands. You cannot hold or use a bow in traditional manner, yet may achieve same end with adapted method.”

            “Such a thing would take years to achieve.”

            “Do we not have the rest of our lives?”

            Agron fixed Nasir with a hard look.

            “And how would you obtain coin to purchase a bow?”

            Nasir could not give answer, instead turning face to the fire and frowning into the flames.

 **

I learned that it had been Nasir who crafted the strange sword-shield weapon wielded by Agron in the final battle. But without an armoury available to him, he found crafting a bow more difficult.

            “Difficulty lies in finding wood of correct quality.” he informed me. “Too old, and bow will not give at all. Too green, and it will fail to spring back, and to propel arrows.”

            Agron shook his head at us as we tested branches – Nasir lifted me up to hang from a branch, and guaged its suitability for bow-making based on how close I came to the ground. It felt to me like a game, and must have looked so to Agron.

            “How did you come to be so knowledgeable about bow making?”

            Nasir smiled sunnily.

            “Observation of their use.”

            “You have never seen one crafted?”

            “Never.”

            Agron cast his eyes upwards in frustration, and stalked away towards the path. With a small sigh, Nasir lifted me down from the tree I dangled from, and we followed him.

 **

Nasir was not happy with what he had crafted. I would not have been. It was rough-hewn, barely resembling any of the bows I had seen before. I thought it a little small for one of Agron’s height, but kept my own counsel. And it was not possible even for one of Nasir’s ingenuity to craft a bowstring out of what was available to us in nature, so valuable coin had to be expended to purchase one. Agron had not tried to hide his disapproval as coin was handed over.

            Agron, wearing an expression of distinct scepticism, stood and attempted to grip the bow. His fingers were yet immobile, and he had to hold the body of the bow with his wrist cocked back, his thumb wrapped round it. He used the two somewhat useful fingers of his right hand to withdraw the string, which immediately came untied from the bow. I burst out laughing, and Nasir aimed a cuff at the back of my head. I dodged it, with a snarl, and Agron laughed at me.

            “Come and fix it better, Cub, if you think you can.”

            I reached for the bow, only to have it snatched away by Nasir, who sat down with stony countenance to attempt to retie bowstring in more hardwearing fashion. I pulled a face, and would have tried to take it back, had Agron not restrained me and sat by Nasir’s side.

            “I have overestimated my own fucking skill. I am no bowsmith.” Nasir said.

            “You are yet the best bowsmith available to me.” Agron nudged Nasir with his shoulder. “And I tell you truly, this-” he indicated the bow “Is the best-crafted bow I have ever held.”

            Nasir could not help but laugh.

            “By which you mean to say that you have never before held a bow?”

            “Do not reject compliment. It is the best you will receive for this… thing.”

            Nasir shook his head and leaned on Agron’s shoulder.

            “Apologies. I wished to allow you to take up weapon again, yet I fear…” he shrugged his shoulders. “I lack skill to see it done.”

            Agron kissed the top of his head, and Nasir smiled with half his mouth.

            “If only we thought to steal a bow from the camp before making for the mountains.”

            “When we marched, I believed I was going to my death.” Agron said. He turned to Nasir. “Did you not?”

            “I did. Yet I did not relish prospect as you seemed to.”

            “Why did you join me, then?”           

            “You know why. Because your place was on field of battle, and mine was by your side. You have not denied that you went willingly to your death.”

            “I did believe that I would die, and was not afraid to do so.”

            “You told me once, that there was no life for you beyond the alps. Do you yet believe it so?”

            Agron wrapped his arms around Nasir.

            “Less with each passing day.”

** 

I could not sleep. It was yet the first half of the night – the half in which Nasir paced roundabout us while Agron lay by embers of dying fire and attempted to rest. Agron slept peacefully, while Nasir leaned wearily upon his spear, shaking his head occasionally as if to wake himself. A twig cracked, and we both stiffened, Nasir pointing his spear in the direction of the sound, but there was no further disturbance, and we both relaxed. I turned from the direction in which the sound had come and endeavoured to sleep, but the hair on the back of my neck prickled, as if I was watched.

            “Nasir!” I cried, and someone swore behind me, then there was a rush of sound and I was dimly aware of dark shapes – men – rushing over our encampment. One of them made a grab for me, and I bit the hand that reached for me with new-found savagery. It withdrew, and new hands came from behind me to find their way around my middle. I yelled and kicked, and Agron rose out of the ground like a vengeful god.           

            “Let her go!” he shouted, gripping one of the arms which held me with his elbow, and dragging the man to the ground. To defend himself from new assault, the stranger released me and I scurried over to Nasir, who was engaged in fighting off two assailants with his spear, and winning. One of them lay on the ground, clutching his bleeding arm, when another crept up on Nasir from behind. Seeing him before Nasir did, I took hold of the back of his tunic and lifted my feet off the ground, the weight of my small body causing him to stumble and fall. Turning to see the man for the first time, Nasir laughed and plunged the sharp point of his spear through the man’s calf. I stood on the man’s wrist until he loosened grip on his sword, and took it from him, attempting to raise it as I had seen Nasir do (and Agron, a lifetime ago). I had to use two hands, and it wobbled in my grasp, but Nasir laughed again – this time with joy – to see me so armed.

            “Halt!” One of the other men cried, from other side of fire. Nasir and I turned to see three men holding Agron – one grasping each arm as he was forced to kneel, the other pulling on his hair with one hand, forcing his head back so that we could better see the knife at his throat.

            The one with the knife snarled something in German, of which I understood the word for “weapon” and “your friend dies.” Nasir seemed to infer the same that I did, and lowered his spear so that it was pointing at the ground. He glanced down at me, and I lowered my stolen sword to my side.

            “Setzen Sie sie auf den Boden!” Put them on the ground.

            Nasir hesitated, but dropped his spear after only a fraction of a moment, and I followed suit. I saw that his hand hovered by his side, near to where his knife was tucked into his belt.

            The one whose sword I had taken shouted, and Nasir, understanding German for “He has a knife!” drew both his daggers from his belt and dropped them by his side.

            “Nasir, fucking flee!” Agron shouted, and then grunted with pain as one of the men who held him kicked him.

            “Befreit ihn!” Nasir shouted, his accent warped more even than usual as he demanded that the men let Agron go.

            In the dim light from the moon, and the still-flickering fire, I saw the man who held Agron’s hair smile.

            “Sie alle töten.” he said. Kill them all.

            “Wait – Halt!” Nasir, in his panic, began to speak in Latin before correcting himself.

            “Wir haben Geld!” We have coin.

            “Toten sie und nehmen sie Geld!” Kill them and take the coin.

            “Nehmen sie und brennen!” Nasir shouted, holding the bag of coin over the fire. Take it and burn! Though beginning to die down, the fire yet burned hot enough that none of the men would like to stick their hands in it. The man with the knife at Agron’s throat stared at Nasir for a moment, then laughed.

            “Du bist gestreich! Bringen Sie mir das Geld, ihr Freund leben kann.” You are quick of wit! Bring me the coin, your friend can live.

            “Have you lost mind!” Agron cried, struggling in the grip of the three who held him. “Draw near and he will fucking kill you – run!” But Nasir, pale-faced, made his way round the fire, holding out the bag of gold with one hand while the other held me by the shoulder, guiding me to walk so close to him that his feet collided with mine as we made our way towards the men who held Agron. We drew close to them, and saw the expression of rage on Agron’s face.

            “Unhand him!” Nasir demanded. He spoke in Latin, certain that his meaning could be inferred. The knife was withdrawn from Agron’s throat, a little, and the man who held it reached out for the money bag with his other hand.

      “And you!” Nasir said, looking at the men who held Agron’s arms as he jerked the bag back, out of reach. The man with the knife (who I supposed must be their leader) nodded at them, and his hand closed around the bag. They released Agron and, as he began to straighten up, Nasir jerked the bag out of the man’s hand and dropped it on the ground behind Agron. The three men dropped to the ground, cursing, and scrabbled to pick up the small cloth bag, which in truth probably held less coin than they were hoping for. Nasir dragged Agron to his feet and we fled, blindly at first, crashing through the woods absent thought that Agron and I were both barefoot and the three of us had no idea where we were going. After a time, we stopped, and Agron and Nasir looked up at the sky to determine our direction. Our course slightly altered, we continued, walking now instead of running.

            “I told you to fucking flee!” Agron snapped.

            “I obeyed.”

            “You should have left me to my fate and taken the child to safety. Now we stand absent weapons, or coin to purchase more!”

            “You really regret, then, that you yet draw breath?”

            “Only that the three of us will now starve, as we lack means of hunting for food.”

**

Days passed, and all we had to eat were roots and mushrooms and berries. The hedges and trees we walked past were groaning with food, yet the season would be over soon. Winter would soon set in, and only Nasir had kept hold of his cloak – Agron and I were without warm clothing. I was happy to wear Nasir’s cloak when the cold became too bitter, but I did not like to see him shiver, and Agron, out of some perverse resentment, refused to wear it for days, until a combination of cold and Nasir’s silent, pleading gaze made him submit to having it wrapped around his shoulders. At night, I sat huddled in Agron’s arms, as I had on that night many months before, after the battle, and woke in Nasir’s embrace. We were hungry, and cold, and I grew so sick of fucking mushrooms that, though my stomach growled, I was tempted to refuse them. But we were all alive, all still together, thanks to Nasir’s ingenuity.

Then the heavens opened. I could not remember seeing rain like it – not even when the Bringer of Rain died, and the skies wept to mourn his passing. It rained so hard that we could barely see a few yards ahead of us, and though we sought the shelter of the woods at the side of the road, we were already soaked to the bone in the time it took us to move into them.

            “The gods fucking piss on us!” Agron snarled. I shivered, and Agron knelt down, gathering me to him and sharing the heat from his body. Nasir stood over us, holding the stick he had sharpened to a point as an improvised weapon.

            “Why stand guard when you cannot see what lies a yard hence?” Agron asked. “Sit.”

            Looking down at us, Nasir sat, and the three of us huddled together against a tree, waiting for the rain to pass.

            “What is that?” Nasir asked, some time later. Agron’s face was turned in the same direction as Nasir’s, and both of them frowned in concentration.

            “A voice.” Agron declared. “A cry for help.”

            Nasir straightened up.

            “Come. Let us investigate.”

            I protested at being dragged to my feet and forced to walk – I was just beginning to grow warm, sitting between Agron and Nasir, and the cold hit me anew when I moved. After we walked for a few moments, Nasir pointed to a dark shape at the side of the road.

            “What is that?”

            Agron moved forward another couple of paces and shaded his eyes – to keep the rain out of them, since there was no sunlight to obscure his vision.

            “A cart. Turned on its side.”

            Nasir hurried forward, followed by myself and Agron. The shouts for help had stopped.

            “Hallo?” Nasir shouted, leaning over the cart. “Ist jemand hier?” Is anybody here.

            “Hier!” a strange voice shouted. “Ich bin gefangen!” Here! I am trapped!

            Nasir ran around the back of the cart to the other side, closely followed by me and Agron, and we saw a man lying on his back, pinned in place by the cart.

            “Sind Sie verletzt?” Agron asked. Are you hurt?

            “Ich glaube nicht.” I do not think so.

            “Wie können Sie inverletzt sein?” Agron demanded incredulously. How can you be unhurt?

            “Ich weiß nicht. Mein Bein wird gefangen, aber das ist alles.” I don’t know. My leg is trapped, but that is all.

            “Unglaublich!” Agron exclaimed.

            “Hilf mir!” Nasir said sternly. While Agron was engaged in conversation with the man, Nasir had been looking around the cart for the best place to lift it. At his command, Agron moved to where he indicated, and the two of them pushed at the cart, levering it up so that the man could crawl out from under the cart. As he wriggled free, the two of them (I tried to help, but thought my contribution likely to have made little difference) managed to lever the cart back to its upright position. It rocked slightly, but sat on its four wheels.

            “Danke, Danke, Danke shön!” the man said, as Nasir knelt beside him. He had a large wound in his leg, where some part of the cart had cut into him, pinning him in place, but was otherwise unhurt. Nasir tore a strip away from his cloak to bind the man’s wound, and the two of them began to gather together the various things which had fallen out of the cart.

            “Wo ist dein Pferd?” Where is your horse? Agron asked, frowning into the driving rain.

            In answer, the man whistled – two notes, one low, one high. Nothing happened. He did the same again, and I turned my head at the sound of hoofbeats. Sure enough, a large, dark horse appeared through the rain, and I hid behind Agron’s legs. The man struggled to his feet and greeted it, murmuring into its neck, something about how it shouldn’t have wandered off. I wondered if the man was a little soft in the head.

            “Gebrochen.” Nasir declared, unable to form a full sentence but conveying his meaning by holding up the harness. This, it seemed, was what was broken. The man, leaning on the horse, walked up to Nasir and saw that what he said was true – the harness was indeed broken. Undeterred, however, he took off his own belt and used it to bind some of the broken bits back together. He picked up the reins, which the horse had stood on and broken, and cut away part of them to patch the other side of the harness. I watched, fascinated. He was left with much shorter reins, but he simply tied them together so they would not trail on the ground and laid them on the horse’s back.

            “Wie werden Sie ihn zu lenken?” Agron asked. How will you guide him?

            “Sie kennt ihr Weg nach Hause.” the man said, dismissively. She knows her way home. “Werden Sie in die Stadt? Es ist spät.” Are you going to the town? It is late.

            Agron explained to him that we were travelling and not heading for the town.

            The man asked where we would sleep tonight, and paused, looking unhappy, when Agron said that we would be sleeping outside. I stepped forward, and his eyes fell on me for the first time.

            “Dies ist Ihre Tochter?” he asked. Is this your daughter?

            “Ein Weisenkind.” An orphan.

            The man studied me. I must have been a pitiful sight - my hair plastered to my head, my thin clothing soaked through, my teeth beginning to chatter. He seemed to make up his mind.

            “Bitte kommen Sie mit. Sie könner mit meiner Familier Essen und in meinem Haus schlafen.” Come with me. You can eat with my family and sleep in my house.

            “Danke.” Nasir said, hesitantly.

            “Es ist kein Problem. Ich könnte hier stundenlang gewesen sein, wenn Sie nicht gekommen sind.” It is no trouble. I could have been here for hours if you had not come.

            “Ist es weit zu Fuß gehen?” Agron asked. Is it far to walk?

            “Auf den Fuhrwerk sitzen.” Sit in the cart. “Sie haben Besitz?” Do you have any belongings? 

           “Kein. Wir beraubt wurden.” None. We were robbed.

            “Schandlich! Einsteigen.” Disgraceful! Climb in.

            Agron helped Nasir climb into the cart, and then lifted me up and handed me to him. Before climbing up himself, he walked around to offer aid to the man whose cart it was, who was having difficulty gaining his seat with his injured leg.

            “Vielen Dank.” I heard him say, and then Agron was moving around to the back of the cart, and climbing in, and I was suddenly so tired and cold that I slept, not caring, really, if the man with the cart really meant to help us, or to kill and eat us.


	4. Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron, Nasir and Elena arrive at the house of the man with the cart.

The journey in the cart was long, and rough enough to make my teeth rattle, but I did not care, for I was no longer on my feet, and Nasir and Agron were beside me, and I was so wet and cold that I could no longer feel it. When at last we came to a stop, I was dimly aware of a boy’s voice shouting “Vater!” and splashing footsteps approaching us. Agron and Nasir jumped down from the cart, and pulled me out after them. I saw that we were in a yard of pressed dirt, which had turned to swamp in the heavy rain. I could make out two buildings – the smaller was lit from within, I could see dimly, while the larger one was dark. The man was in conversation with a boy some years older than me – just approaching adolescence. His son, I managed to deduce. This boy rounded the cart and came face to face with us. He reached out to take my hand and I withdrew it sharply. With an exclamation, he grabbed it again, and this time I slapped his hand away, baring my teeth in a snarl.           

“Elena!” Nasir pulled on my shoulder, pulling me back from the boy, and Agron said something apologetic to him. With a shrug, the boy pulled something down from the cart and set off for one of the buildings. Agron handed me a small box of tools and bid me follow him, saying something to me in German which seemed to be about how if I couldn’t be polite I could help to carry things inside. Obediently, I aided them and the boy in taking some of the things from the cart to be stored in a hidden shed, before we were led towards the house by the boy, carrying the few items from the cart which were for the house - the smaller, lit-up building.           

There was a gasp when we entered, and Agron and Nasir stopped short on the threshold. A stoutish woman with flaxen hair bustled over to them, took the things they held away from them, and called out to someone else in the room. A small girl, about my age, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared up at Agron and Nasir, approached cautiously bearing sheets of cloth, which she gave to Agron and Nasir, and to the boy. He was being scolded by the woman, who I thought might be his mother. Thanking the little girl (which made her scurry away) Agron and Nasir began to use the pieces of cloth to dry themselves. I stepped forward, between them, to offer the woman the clay pot I held. She made a noise of concern at the sight of me, and took up another piece of cloth with which to dry me. I flinched backwards, hiding behind Agron’s legs, and he made another apologetic speech, even as the boy spoke over him. The boy was gesticulating in my direction as he spoke, and I thought that whatever he said was not likely to be flattering. But the woman, making a sympathetic noise, merely handed the cloth to Nasir, that he might complete the task of seeing me dry.           

The worst of the water removed, the woman handed Agron and Nasir bundles of dry clothing and bid them retreat behind a hanging curtain and change. I stood with head bowed, and dripped in silence, still in my wet clothes.           

“Wie heißt du?”           

I looked up. It was the little girl who had spoken. She wore a red dress, all of one material, with no patches or darns that I could see. Her face was pink from being scrubbed clean, and her blonde hair was in two braids, not a hair out of place. I was suddenly acutely aware that I was dressed in soaking wet rags, my hair hung in matted clumps over my shoulders, and the soles of my bare feet were black with dirt.          

“Elena.” I replied, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Und du? Wie heißt du?”           

“Frieda.”           

“Tag, Frieda.” I said. Good day, Frieda.           

“Tag.” she replied. “Woher kommst du?” Where did you come from?           

I hesitated, recalling well the lengths to which Agron and Nasir had gone to disguise our origins. I remembered how Agron had answered the question when asked it in a market town some days before the robbers set upon us.           

“Die Alpen.”           

Frieda’s mother turned around, her eyes wide with shock.           

“Die Alpen!” she exclaimed, and then continued to speak to me, but I still felt a thrill of fear whenever a strange adult noticed my existence, and did not hear what she had to say to me. I lowered my head again, and brought my arms up as if to shield myself.           

Laughter could be heard from behind the curtain, and when Agron and Nasir emerged, I understood its source. The tunic worn by Agron evidently belonged to the man with the cart, who was much smaller than him, and the thing barely reached halfway to his knees. Frieda’s mother laughed as well, and handed him a pair of breeches, newly darned, to wear underneath, for which he gruffly thanked her as he put them on.           

The man came in at that point, and the adults were soon engaged in conversation, as Agron and Nasir pulled off my sopping wet clothes, scrubbed the worst of the dirt from my face and arms with a wet rag, and dressed me again in a clean, dry dress. We were bid to sit by the fire, and I pulled Nasir to sit almost within the flames, then crawled into his lap. I still shivered, and was given a blanket, which Nasir helped to wrap around me before I settled again in his lap. At last I looked around me, ignoring the conversation of the adults at either side of me to take in our surroundings. The walls were stone, as was the hearth on which we sat. A fire roared in a fireplace set into the wall, and lamps burned in brackets round the room, so that all areas were well lit. I could see the wooden table and chairs across the room, and the straw pallets, topped with blankets, ranged round the wall. Something had been cooking in a pot over the fire, and this was now removed by Frieda’s mother, and Frieda bid to fetch bowls. Stew was dished out and passed around, and I did not think I had smelled anything so wonderful in my life. But it was when bread was produced that my eyes widened. Agron and Nasir both smiled to see me so awed by the sight of it, and when all of us had been given our portion, Nasir offered me his as well. I snatched it eagerly, before remembering that Nasir had gone even longer than I had without tasting bread. After a moment’s hesitation, I returned it to him and, as he accepted it, he made an approving noise and squeezed my shoulders with his free arm. Agron reached over to stroke my hair, in a gesture of approval.           

“Sie ist ein gutes Mädchen.” he said to the assembled family, who looked to be faintly puzzled by the exchange. She is a good girl. Hearing that I had gone so long without bread, Frieda’s mother stood and fetched me some more, which I bit into eagerly. Frieda watched me as I ate, a small frown on her clean face.           

Once the food had been eaten and the bowls taken away, the grown ups fell to talking about grown up matters, and Frieda, bored, went and got something from one of the beds at the edge of the room. I had never seen anything quite like it before. It was made of linen, and crafted to look like a little girl – like Frieda, in fact, with yellow yarn for hair and eyes embroidered in blue thread – but small enough for Frieda to carry it around, perhaps the size of a newborn baby. I stared at it, as subtly as I could, but one of the adults noticed, and said something to Frieda, which made her frown and clasp it to her chest. I lowered my gaze in shame at my presumption – that I had dared to look upon something so precious. But when Frieda’s mother spoke sharply to her, she held the cloth girl out to me, and I knew that the adults would make a scene if I did not reach out in turn. Hesitantly, I extended one hand, and gently touched its hair with two of my fingers. It felt like yarn, and also like something more – that magical quality that toys have, which is only detectable to children. I withdrew my hand, and grinned up at Frieda, who smiled approvingly at me.           

“Sie heißt Anja.” she said importantly, and I nodded, looking up at her as if at an oracle. Agron was laughing next to us, and Nasir pushed on his shoulder and scolded him.           

Frieda took my hand and tugged me firmly to my feet, leading me to the corner of the room. We knelt down and played, or she did, and I tried to follow her instructions. It was difficult, because she spoke quickly, and I understood only half of what she said, but she did not hesitate to pull or push me into doing what she required. I uttered no sound, but she did not seem to mind. At length, the adults stood up, and spoke to Frieda. I recognised the word for bed, the place where people with homes sleep, and realised for the first time how tired I was. Frieda extended her hand to me, and spoke, and I guessed rather than understood that she wanted me to sleep by her side, in her bed. Feeling the familiar rush of panic I always felt when separated from Agron and Nasir, I retreated, shaking my head wordlessly, but she reached out and took my hand.           

“Gute Nacht.” she said, and looked at me. She was waiting for something.           

“Gute Nacht.” I replied, and she held up Anja, and said something. I stared at her. Seeing that I did not understand, she raised Anja to her lips and kissed her, before holding her out to me again. Obediently, I bent my head and kissed the cloth girl, and Frieda’s mother ushered her away.           

Frieda and her brother – Kristof – slept in a little room in the roof, and had to climb a ladder to gain it. Their parents slept in a curtained off area underneath their little room, and were just now giving blankets to Agron and Nasir, that we might sleep on the hearth, before the embers of the fire. Unlike in the wilderness, when one of Agron or Nasir would remain awake to keep the fire going and so ward off wild animals, the fire would be allowed to die down to nothing overnight. And, what was more unusual, Agron and Nasir would be able to sleep side by side, which had not been possible these last few months when one of them had to always be awake to keep watch. After bidding our hosts good night, they nudged each other and giggled as they lay down together. Ignoring them, I simply curled up between them and attempted to sleep.


	5. Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron, Nasir and Elena have found a place to stay until the end of the harvest.

I slept only fitfully that night, unused to being under a roof, with the sound of wind howling in the eaves and the shutters, and to the presence of other people, strangers, near to where we slept. Agron and Nasir seemed to be as ill at ease as I was – I awoke several times that night to see one or other of them with their eyes open and shining in the light of the fire.           

Eventually, in the grey light of dawn, the other inhabitants of the house began to stir and we all stretched, and shuffled out of the way so that Frieda’s mother could lay the fire. Having been too tired the previous night to give the matter much thought, I began now to wonder what would happen to us today. If the man we had helped gave us back our dry clothes, and sent us on our way with his thanks, and perhaps a bundle of food, most would consider him to have discharged his duty in terms of repaying the aid we gave him on the road. But, though our own clothes were returned to us, I gathered from eavesdropping that the man had asked Agron and Nasir to help him on his farm, with bringing in what remained of his harvest, and that they had agreed.           

I was meant to remain with Frieda and her mother in the house, while the men left to work in the fields, but I clung to Agron’s hand and would not let go. He tried, gently, to persuade me to remain behind, but I was not convinced that he really wanted me to, and thought that, if he had the strength in his hand, he would have gripped me to him as tightly as I held him. The cart man – whose name, I learned at last, was Ulf – was moved by my distress, and agreed to have me accompany them, though he was worried that I would grow tired and bored.           

I staved off boredom by helping the men – gathering up the crops they harvested and piling them up, and trailing after Agron to pick up the ones he inevitably dropped as he carried them to the cart to be taken away. Listening in to Ulf’s conversation with Agron, I realised that Ulf’s farm was vast, and he had fallen behind taking in his harvest. He was desperate for aid – small wonder, then, that he had been so eager to offer work to a foreigner and a man with broken hands. We halted our work at midday for food, and then worked on until the sun was low in the sky, and our stomachs were growling.           

Frieda was keeping lookout for us when we returned, and ran to greet us. I realised, when she threw her arms around me, and tugged on my hand for me to follow her, that she had missed me, and been disappointed that I had not stayed behind to play with her. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being wanted.           

The men remained outside to inspect the wheel of the cart, which had been cracked when it tipped over, and now looked like it might need to be replaced. Frieda tugged on my hand for me to enter the house with her, and I obeyed.           

I was greeted, when I entered the house, by the sight of a large tub – big enough for me to sit in – filled with water. Frieda’s mother looked up when I entered, and smiled at me. Indicating the tub, she bid me take off my clothes and climb in. I did not understand until Frieda demonstrated, climbing in herself after bashfully bidding me turn my back while she undressed. She and her mother washed her with soap, untying her braids and scrubbing her hair. Once she was clean, she climbed out and wrapped herself in a length of cloth to dry herself, and indicated the tub once again. I looked at it suspiciously, but she and her mother smiled at me, and insisted, and I wanted to please them, so I got in. The water, which had been clear when Frieda climbed out, turned murky and grey as soon as I touched it. Frieda’s mother scrubbed me with the soap and I remembered the sensation, dimly, from another life, one that I had lived with Lupa. I splashed water on my face to disguise the tears.           

While my hair was being washed, Frieda was dressing herself, and while I was still endeavouring to scrub the soles of my feet clean (a hopeless task) her mother combed her hair and braided it again. I watched, remembering how Lupa had braided my hair, once, but it had been too short, and my braids had been stubby and stuck out, not like Frieda’s long and graceful plaits. My hair was longer now, perhaps it would be like Frieda’s.           

It would not. After being neglected and unwashed for the months in which we travelled north, my hair was in matted tangles too solid even for Frieda’s mother’s comb. After losing two of its teeth to my hair, she instead took a knife to it, to remove the most stubborn knots. Having been forced to hack away most of my hair, she elected to cut off what remained, that it would grow back evenly. I was left with hair only a little longer than Agron’s.           

The boy Kristof, who had been engaged in some chores in the barn, came into the house just as my haircut was completed. He stopped short at the sight of me, as I ran my hands through my new, short hair. I had liked my long hair, but it felt now like a relief not to have the weight of it dragging on my scalp, pulling my head down. I felt lighter. Frieda was not sure what to make of me.           

“Du siehst aus wie ein Junge.” You look like a boy.           

“Du siehst aus wie…” I did not know the word, and had to come up with something. “Eine… eine Mädchen aus Stoff.” You look like a cloth-girl.           

Frieda’s fair eyebrows drew together in confusion, and I gestured over to the side of the room where Anja lay.           

“Aus wie Anja…” I turned to Frieda’s mother. “Ich weiß nicht das Wurt.”           

“Eine Puppe!” Kristof interjected, and I started. Looking a little apologetic, he knelt before me, and spoke more gently.           

“Puppe. Anja ist eine Puppe.”           

Puppe. Doll. The first German word I learned without first knowing the Latin. Nasir stopped short on seeing me, and Agron laughed out loud. I ran to him, and he picked me up, clasping me to him with his arms as I wrapped my arms round his neck and my legs round his waist. Nasir seemed to be being scolded by Frieda’s mother, whom Ulf called “Annika” when he bid her stop. She brandished the broken comb at him, and he began to stutter out what sounded like an apology, before she put a hand on his arm and smiled, in a friendly, conciliating gesture.  We fell into a routine. Each day we rose with the sun, breakfasted on porridge, and set out for the fields, not returning until dusk. We had to clean ourselves as soon as we entered the house, and then we sat down for dinner. The adults sat at the table, on chairs, while the children sat on the floor, under the watchful eye of Annika, who always tried to force additional food on me. Then the men (and Kristof) talked while Frieda’s mother sewed and Frieda and I played together until it was time for bed. After our first night (which we had spent on the flagstones) Ulf and Kristof made up straw pallets for us, which were stacked against the wall in daytime and laid out before the fire at night. Living under one roof, sleeping in the same bed each night, seeing the same people – it was almost like having a home. Over time I grew so used to the people we lived with that I was, on occasion, content to remain on the farm with Frieda, rather than accompany Agron and Nasir. Sometimes we played, sometimes she taught me German. She was faintly bossy, but also possessed great patience for one so young. These traits combined to make her a great teacher, and after scant days she had taught me the names of every object in the house and farmyard, and was helping me to construct simple sentences. Over time, even before the harvest had been collected in completely, the language started to become more familiar to me. Certain phrases, the ones I heard most often – dinner is ready, come here, come inside – began to have their own meaning to me. I no longer had to translate them into Latin in my head to understand them; they stood alone. Sometimes, someone would speak to me, and I would reply so quickly and easily that I would freeze, thinking that I had spoken in Latin. But no one batted an eye, and I realised that I was learning to speak German as easily as I spoke Latin. I had given no thought to what would happen, where we would go once the harvest was gathered in and there was no more work, but the adults had been more forward thinking. I overheard discussions between Ulf and Agron, and occasionally Nasir, regarding the farm next to Ulf’s, which stood empty following the death of its owner. Though my usual way was to ignore adults’ boring conversations as much as I possibly could, the significance of them eventually made itself known to me. I could not understand why Agron and Nasir were so hesitant to accept the offer of a home, a livelihood, so close to the only friends we had made since leaving the last of the rebels behind. My eavesdropping yielded little. Agron and Nasir still did not speak in Latin while the others were in earshot, which accounted for most of the hours of the day, and Nasir’s German, though improving, was still hesitant. One day, however, when we were engaged in harvesting apples from the orchard, at a distance from Ulf and Kristof, I decided it was safe to speak in the language we were all most fluent in.            “How long are we going to stay here?” I asked.           

“As long as they keep feeding us.” Agron replied, and Nasir laughed.                       

“Until end of harvest?”           

“At least.”           

“And then?”           

Agron and Nasir exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. I changed tack.           

“Ulf spoke of another farm nearby. Why?”           

Agron frowned.           

“You hear much.”           

“Yet still less than you do.” I replied, climbing up to a higher branch to reach more distant apples. “Does Ulf want us to live on the other farm?”           

“Yes.” Agron said, and the branch I had climbed onto bowed alarmingly under my weight. “Careful, Elena!”           

“I am fine!” I scoffed, balancing easily and reaching for the dangling fruit.           

“Elena, come down! Now!” Nasir said sternly, and I did so, though not until after I had a couple more apples in my skirt.           

I slithered down to the ground and presented Nasir with the apples I had gathered, sticking my tongue out at him as he took them from me. Ignoring my rudeness, for once, he squatted down before me and looked in my eyes as he spoke.            

“Ulf would have us take over the farm next to his, it is true. But Agron and I are unsure whether or not to take it.”           

“Why not?” I was genuinely shocked. “Do you not wish to stay? Are you not happy here?”           

Nasir looked up at Agron, who shrugged, and Nasir turned back to me.           

“We are, yet… Agron and I know little of farming, and would need coin to buy crops and animals to fill the farm. We would have to borrow from Ulf, and would likely be in his debt for many years.”           

“So instead… I said slowly. “You wish to set out upon road again, once harvest is ended.”           

Nasir said nothing, but looked unhappy. He looked up to Agron for help.           

“If we tried to live on the road in winter, as we did before, we would surely freeze to death.” Agron said shortly. “We are in no position to turn down a roof over our heads.” He looked down at Nasir. “We could take on the farm over winter, repair it, and then consider in spring whether to settle there permanently?”           

Nasir looked at him for a moment, then smiled, and Agron nodded at him before turning to me.           

“Now, Cub.” he said. “Could you try to climb again, and gather more apples, without frightening me and Nasir half to death?”           

I laughed, and Agron helped me to climb on his shoulders, the better to reach the first branch.           

Agron communicated his and Nasir’s decision to Ulf, and we were taken to visit the farm in question. It was smaller by far than Ulf’s, and in a state of appalling repair – every roof leaking, every fence sagging, the house full of broken bits of furniture and little else.           

“The family came and took away what there was of value.” Ulf explained, looking round the ruined room.            

“More room for all our possessions.” Agron said drily.           

The barn was spacious and well built, apart from the several holes in the roof. Kristof unexpectedly pointed to one of the beams.           

“That one.” he said knowledgeably. “That’s where-” He was abruptly cut off when Ulf, whom I had never seen strike one of his children, aimed a cuff at Kristof’s head. Kristof was so startled he fell over onto the ground, and Agron took half a step forward to stand a little between the two of them.     

"Apologies.” Ulf said, looking a little surprised at his own violence. “Let us go.”           

We inspected the rest of the farm without incident, and that night lay before the fire on our pallets. The rest of the house was asleep, and I was mostly so, when I was woken by Agron whispering in Latin to Nasir:           

“It is true, then, what the shoemaker said. The man took his own life.”           

“Because of the debt he owed to Ulf?”           

“Perhaps.”           

Feeling suddenly cold, I curled in closer to Nasir’s side, and he held me close as I drifted off to sleep. The adults reached some arrangement, and once the harvest had been gathered in, and the farmhouse roof of the smaller farm had been repaired, the three of us were to move in. We gathered our few possessions together in a couple of sacks. Having arrived with nothing, we had spent almost all that Agron and Nasir had earned on the farm on new boots for all of us, and warmer clothing. We would likely need to buy more furs to sleep under, since the nights were growing increasingly cold, but that was a worry for another time, when we had coin enough to buy them. On our last night, Frieda and Annika presented us with two thick woolen blankets, one only big enough to cover one person, one big enough for two. As Agron and Nasir stuttered out their thanks to Annika, I embraced Frieda tightly.           

“I will miss you.” I said solemnly.           

“Me too.” she replied. The following day, she came to stand in the doorway to wave us off as we walked away. Ulf had given us some of his goats, and a couple of cows, on the grounds that there was not enough room for them in his barn, and when winter came and they could not be outside they would have to stay in his kitchen. I wondered if they had belonged to the man who had died. We set them loose in the field next to the house, whose fence whe had already fixed, before turning into the house. Ulf opened the door to the little bedroom off to the side, and we all saw a sturdy bedstead, with a straw mattress, where there had only been broken wood before.            

“Kristof and I fixed it.” he explained. “It’s warmer, being in a bed, off the cold ground.”           

“Gratitude.” Agron said, bending down to inspect the wood, and smiling.           

“Really.” Nasir said, setting down the sack he held and taking Ulf’s hand in two of his. “Gratitude. For all that you have done for us.”           

Ulf blinked, and nodded, his eyes bright.            

Grown ups are strange. I thought, pushing past Nasir so that I could jump on the bed and test the softness of our new pallet. I wondered about the man who had lived here before, the man who had apparently taken his own life due to the debt he owed to Ulf. I wondered how the three of us would fare, living here. More urgently, I wondered if there was food in the larder. Our breakfast had been a while ago, and I was hungry.


	6. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having decided to stick around for winter, Agron and Nasir try to decide whether to stay permanently, or move on once spring arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a new tag about domestic violence. It's nothing particularly explicit - the grown ups talk about it in front of Elena, and she doesn't understand what they're on about. But I wanted to let people know just in case.

“Fucking shit!” Agron dropped the hammer and nails that he had held, and stormed away, towards the woods. I had flinched away from him when he swore, and looked at the ground, waiting for him to leave before I raised my head. Flicking my eyes sideways to look at Nasir, I found him in the same attitude. Catching my eye, he half-smiled at me and stood up, stretching his cramping legs. I copied him, and together we watched Agron’s retreating back. He did not turn around and see us watching him.  
“What will he do in the woods?” I asked.  
“Sulk, most likely.” Nasir replied matter of factly. 

Nasir and I had grown used to Agron’s temper, which had shortened since the end of harvest. At harvest time, he had been able to make himself useful, finding a way to grip crops in order to pick them, and able to carry heavy loads by balancing them carefully in his arms. But now most of the work that needed doing was chopping wood (Agron stood unable to hold an axe) or repairing the fences and buildings (he could not grip a hammer either). Nasir struggled with the weight of work upon him, and Agron was forced to stand idle. It galled him, and we knew that his outbursts sprang from the most noble feelings of concern for Nasir, and guilt that he could not be of more help, yet this could not alleviate all of our frustration with him.  
“I wish that I could help.” I said, still watching Agron’s retreating back.  
“Help is the last thing he desires.” 

He returned, after a long while, thin lipped and silent, and avoiding our gazes. We ignored him in turn, having been through this ritual of return many times. After a while, Agron reached out tentatively to pull back Nasir’s hair, which was falling in his face, and which Nasir could not move out of the way because both his hands were occupied. Pausing in his task for a moment, Nasir looked up at Agron and bestowed on him one of his sweetest, most forgiving smiles, and Agron’s hard expression softened to one of sorrowful contrition. I complained of being cold, which I wasn’t, not really, and Agron knelt beside me and pulled me close to him, under his coat, as he had done many times before.  
“Better, Cub?” he asked, after a little while.  
“Ja.” I said, with a smile. It was good for him to feel useful, and he would never suspect me of engineering such an opportunity.

Fetching hay down from the hayloft was one of the few tasks Agron could perform himself, but I selfishly fought to do it, because I enjoyed the climb and crawling around in the hayloft alone. Agron did not seem to mind overmuch – he was happy to stand at the bottom of the ladder and shout up at me to stop playing and hurry up. He tried to sound angry, but it would have been more convincing if I couldn’t see him grinning fondly up at me whenever I looked down through the trapdoor.  
“At this rate, task will not be completed by sunset!” Agron complained, but he did not sound really angry, and I took his calm as tacit permission to continue exploring the far corners of the hayloft. At the far side, just under the slope of the roof, I found a strange object. A long stick, slightly bent, with a leather strip wrapped round a short section in the middle of it. I reached out to pick it up, and found that it was almost as long as I was tall – I ended up dragging it along the floor as I tried to move it.  
“Elena?” Agron’s voice was more curious than concerned.  
“I found something!” I called back.  
“Found what! Elena? What is it? Elena!”  
Casting my eyes up at his needless panic, I dragged the stick over to the trapdoor and dangled it through the gap where Agron could see it.  
“What the fuck is that?” Agron asked.  
“I will bring it down.” I said, jumping on to the ladder.  
“Elena!” Agron steadied the ladder as best he could with his weakened hands as I half climbed, half slid down, still holding the stick.  
“Hello?” Nasir put his head around the door of the barn. “I heard shouting.”  
“I found something!” I called out excitedly, as Agron put an arm around my middle and lifted me down off the ladder, apparently not trusting me to negotiate the last few rungs. The stick fell to the ground, and I wriggled away from Agron to pick it up, and held it out to him. As Nasir crossed the barn to see what we were doing, Agron took it from me, and I suddenly knew what it was.  
“Is that a bow?” Nasir frowned as Agron inspected it, blinking in disbelief.  
“It is!” I cried “Is it not?”  
“I believe so.” Agron turned it in his hand, and almost dropped it. “This was lying forgotten in the loft?”  
I nodded. Nasir held out his hand, and Agron handed him the bow, which Nasir inspected, a smile growing over his face.  
“It looks to be of good quality.” he said confidently, though I thought he knew little of bows. “A little old and stiff, but better than a fucking stick.” I thought of the bow he had attempted to craft for Agron, the one that I had laughed at, and felt guilt squeeze at my stomach. Agron’s thoughts evidently travelled the same way.  
“A pity we did not keep hold of the string from that old bow.” he said. Nasir looked up at him with a knowing smile, and Agron’s jaw went slack with disbelief.  
“No!” he exclaimed.

“Yes!” I cried, as Nasir took the bowstring out of its hiding place among his clothes.  
“How did you keep hold of it?” Agron asked in disbelief, as Nasir sat on our one chair and began to unravel the string, with intent to fasten it to the bow.  
“I was concerned that it would snap, if we carried the bow with string attached. And it would always come untied anyway, so I took it off from the bow and kept it in my cloak. I had it upon me when we fled from the bandits.”  
“And you did not tell me of this before?”  
“I hardly thought it mattered! I could not have known that we would come across a bow in need of a string.” He turned the bow, and bent it slightly, to tie the string onto the other limb. “If only we had arrows.” he mused.  
“I will go and look!” I exclaimed, and bolted out of the door.  
“Elena-“ Agron broke off with a frustrated noise and followed me, to attempt to prevent me breaking my neck.

Luck smiled on us again, and I found three arrows lying in a different corner of the loft. After I struck Agron in the shoulder with the first one I threw down through the trapdoor, he persuaded me to carry any others in my hand when I climbed down, and I managed to tamp down my excitement enough to obey. I carried my three prizes out to the yard, and found Nasir, newly strung bow in hand, just coming out of the house. I ran towards him, waving the arrows, and his face split into a grin. He knelt down to see what I held, and on inspecting them, placed them and the bow on the ground, to free his hands so that he could embrace me.  
“My good, clever girl.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he clasped me close, and I felt warmth bloom in my chest. I kissed him as well, and at last we broke apart when Agron joined us, bending down to pick up the newly strung bow that Nasir had set upon the ground. His expression, as he inspected it, was unreadable, at least to me. Nasir sometimes knew better than I what Agron was thinking or feeling. He reached out now, and touched Agron’s arm, and Agron looked up at him.  
“If you do not wish to wield it…” Nasir said, and there was limitless understanding, endless love in his voice.  
“I can, perhaps, and so I shall.” Agron said shortly, and Nasir gave him a small smile, which Agron returned, though he still looked troubled.

Nasir propped a round log up on a barrel to serve as a target, and declared his intent to retreat to the far end of the field and repair the fence. Agron nodded absent mindedly, standing at the opposite side of the yard to the target, holding the bow and looking apprehensive.  
“Come on, Elena.” Nasir said pointedly, picking up his tools, ready to set off.  
“I want to stay!” I protested.  
“Elena.” Nasir said sternly, and I fixed him with my most mutinous glare. He took a deep breath, as he often did when I was being stubborn, and looked from me to Agron. He clearly did not wish to have the joy of my discovery ruined by one of my tantrums.  
“She can stay.” Agron said unexpectedly, sparing us only the briefest glance before returning his gaze to the target. Nasir looked down at me, his face serious enough to stop me gloating.  
“Be good for Agron.” he said, and there was some hidden meaning, I knew, but I could not guess what it was. I nodded anyway, eager for him to be gone so that I could watch Agron shoot. Pausing only to stroke my hair, Nasir turned on his heel and left the yard without looking back.  
Agron waited for him to turn around the corner of the barn, then warned me to stay back, and nocked an arrow, with unexpected expertise, to the bow. Holding the bow in his left hand, and withdrawing the string with the fourth and fifth fingers of his right hand, he straightened his left arm, brought his right hand back to his face, and loosed. The arrow clattered to the ground barely a foot away from him.  
I could not help it, I laughed so hard I almost fell over, and Agron’s face turned scarlet. With a muttered curse, he dropped the bow, and began to stride past me towards the house. Confused, I stepped in front of him, forcing him to halt so suddenly he almost toppled over.  
“So soon?” I asked.  
“Endeavour is hopeless!” he snarled, but he remained standing, did not push past me as he so easily could have done. Moving past him, I trotted over to where the bow lay and picked it up. His way to the house clear, Agron did not take it, instead remaining where he was and turning to watch me as I walked back to him, holding the bow out in front of me.  
“You will never succeed if you do not try.” I said reasonably.  
“I have fucking tried!” Agron exclaimed, his hands by his sides. I fixed him with the hardest stare I could muster.  
“Try again.” I said, as firmly as I could.  
He reached out and took the bow.

That night, we sat before the fire, Agron on the only chair, Nasir on the floor by his side, and me on Nasir’s lap. Nasir had torn his breeches badly, and was now attempting to mend them, and growing increasingly frustrated. He was tired, from working all day and then preparing our meal – Agron could do little to help, being unable to grasp knife to prepare food.  
“Give me that!” Agron said suddenly, reaching out his hand for Nasir’s mending. Nasir hesitated, probably as baffled as me as to why Agron might think himself able to sew, and Agron snatched the breeches out of his hand.  
He turned the material over to find the needle, which was thankfully still threaded, and set himself to arranging the two edges of the tear the way he wanted them. He did not lift his eyes from his task, apparently oblivious to how Nasir and I were gaping at him. Managing, at last, to pinch the two severed bits of fabric together with his left hand, he picked up the needle – very dexterously – with his right, clasping it tightly between his thumb, and his fourth and fifthe fingers. He brought the needle to the tear in the cloth, and Nasir and I both, I think, held our breath, waiting for him to fail, as he had failed before at so many tasks around the house and farm. But, after an unbearably long moment, the needle pierced the material, coming out through the other side, and Agron pulled it through, perfectly nonchalant, as if his ability to do so did not constitute a minor miracle. He bent his head to make another stitch, then finally seemed to notice how Nasir and I were staring at him, slack jawed.  
“What is it?” he asked innocently.  
Nasir startled me by bursting out laughing.  
“If you like darning so much, you can fix Elena’s blouse as well. Wait, I shall fetch it.”  
He stood up abruptly, depositing me on the floor, and walked through to the bedroom to fetch it. I crawled closer to Agron to watch him work. He made a couple more stitches, each one more confident than the last. He was learning to use his hands, to adapt them to different tasks, since he could not perform the ones he was used to.  
Nasir returned, dropping my blouse on Agron’s lap.  
“That should be enough to keep you occupied.” he said, and Agron shook his head, smiling, as Nasir settled himself once more before the fire and drew me back into his lap.  
Nasir was in a better humour than I had seen him in a long while. His former lethargy was gone, and he was awake enough to tell me a story – a whole new one, about a princess who was kidnapped by a great serpent, and had to slay it and make her escape, making a treacherous journey home to her family. Agron remained hunched over his work, glancing over at us and smiling occasionally, whenever Nasir spoke in the serpent’s deep, rasping voice, or when the princess had to fight off a bandit who wanted to trick her into giving up her sword. Just when the princess had helped an injured wolf, and befriended it, Agron put down the needle and shook his right hand as if it pained him. In the light from the fire, I could see that he was grimacing. Nasir deposited me on the floor and moved to kneel by Agron’s side, taking Agron’s right hand in both of his and stroking the palm with his thumbs.  
“A hard working hand.” he said sympathetically.  
“Not so much as yours.” Agron said shortly. Nasir looked up at him.  
“More so than mine.” Nasir replied, and bent his head to kiss Agron’s hand, right in the centre of the palm, where the skin was pink and shiny. Agron’s face twitched, and he leaned down to kiss the top of Nasir’s head. I turned my attention to building up the fire, sensing that this exchange was not one I should be privy to. I thought about claiming tiredness and retiring to bed, but I wanted to hear the rest of the story.  
“Come on then, storyteller.” Agron said, picking up his needle again. “What happened next?”  
Nasir settled back into his old position, and held out his arms for me to return to them.  
“Well, once she had a wolf with her, to act as her protector, the princess felt far safer as she made her way through the wilderness…”

Ulf visited us from time to time, when the snow was not too deep, and usually brought Frieda with him. While the grown ups talked, we explored the dark corners of the barn, finding strange objects and treasures in the hidden places: a bent nail, a smooth-worn pebble, an ancient bit of string. Standing in the shaft of sunlight inside the door, inspecting our treasures, I recalled, suddenly, standing there for the first time, looking around, and seeing Kristof point at a particular beam and speak about a dead man. I recalled the tiny conversation Agron and Nasir had that night, that I had overheard, and wanted to ask Frieda what the word “debt” meant. However, I racked my brains and found that I did not know the word in German. The subject of debt had not come up in any of the German conversations I had listened in to. I tried to ask her anyway.  
“Do you know why the man took his own life?” I asked her. She looked up from the piece of broken stone she was examining.  
“Kristof said it was because his wife died a little time before.”  
“Oh.” I thought for a moment. “Someone said that it was something to do with your daddy.”  
“My daddy!” Frieda was wide eyed. “Who would say such a thing?”  
“I think it was…” I thought about it for a long moment. “The… shoemaker? Him or the furrier, I cannot recall.”  
“My daddy.” Frieda said authoritatively. “Would not do anything to make a man take his own life.”  
“I…” Frieda was glaring at me. For all her daintiness, she could be quite formidable. “I am sure you are right! It was only something someone said, that’s all. I was only wondering…”  
We did not speak on the subject again before Frieda was summoned by her father so that they could leave. We embraced, and kissed each other’s cheeks in farewell, and the men clasped forearms. Agron and Nasir retreated inside, but I ran to the edge of the farmyard and watched them leave. When they were some distance away from the farm buildings, Frieda tugged on her father’s sleeve, and he looked down at her and listened as she spoke to him. I saw him come to a halt and glance back. Feeling his gaze on me, I felt suddenly hot and guilty, and ran inside to see what Agron and Nasir were doing.

Market day arrived, and we journeyed into the town to spend what little coin we had remaining. At Nasir’s insistence, we stopped to consult a man Ulf had spoken of, who had great skill with bow making. Nasir even went to the trouble of attempting to explain, in stumbling German, what Agron’s problem was. The man frowned in confusion, and Agron had to step in to clarify matters. But once the man understood, his eyes lit up with interest – someone with such great skill at bow making must have relished a new challenge. He asked to see how Agron held the bow, and how he shot it, and watched intently as Agron aimed at one of the targets, loosed, and missed by a yard.  
“How did you come by these injuries?” he asked, curiously, as he watched Agron fumble and drop the bow he held. There was not pity in his voice, which was unusual, and made me like him, a little. I sensed that Agron felt the same.  
“I told the Gods to fuck themselves too many times, and they fucked me!”  
The bowsmith laughed loud enough to draw the attention of his pregnant wife, who appeared in the doorway, vast and intimidating, having clearly just been roused from sleep.  
“Hans, who are these men who make you shout so with mirth?” she enquired.  
“Ah – Agron, and Nasir.” he said. I was left out, as I often was.  
She blinked, and focused her sharp blue gaze on each of them in turn.  
“The newcomers.” she said, and I was not sure if she meant it as insult or compliment. “Welcome.”  
“Gratitude.” Agron said, with a tone of caution which I thought well advised.  
She inclined her head like a queen.  
“You live in Lenz’s old place?” she enquired.  
“We do.” Agron replied cautiously.  
“We spoke to Ulf not long ago.” she said, emerging finally from her doorway. “He expressed hope that you might take on the farm for longer than just this winter. Yet he said you were hesitant?”  
“Perhaps a little.”  
“Why?”  
Agron looked to Nasir for help, which was most unlike him, but had been once a common occurrence, when we spoke in a tongue Nasir had command of.  
“We – we wondered,” Nasir stuttered out. “How it was that the previous owner – Lenz, it was – came to be so in debt.”  
“We know little of farming.” Agron continued. “It seems that the farm yielded little even when run by experienced hands. We must be unlikely to fare better, and could find ourselves in greater debt each year, as Lenz did.”  
It was not uncommon for me to fail to understand grown ups’ jokes, and look on in puzzlement as they laughed at something which did not seem funny to me, but Agron and Nasir seemed as nonplussed as I was when the bowsmith’s wife laughed so hard she had to hold on to the doorframe to support herself.  
“Experienced hands…” she said at last, as she began to get her breath back. “Aye, that they were, I suppose… yet what is experience when dulled with drink?”  
“Marna.” the bowsmith said. “One ought not to speak ill of the dead.”  
“Would you speak ill of the living in their stead, as this wretched town seems determined to do?” she demanded. She went on:  
“Lenz was a drunk. The daughter who weeps and wails now for her dear departed father went hungry often as a child since her father would spend all the money they had on drink. She married and left the house as soon as she was of an age to, and cut off all contact with her father. I believe that at the time of his death she had not broken words with him in something close to a year. To hear her carry on after he was gone you would think they had been close as kin ought to be-“  
“Marna!”  
“I will say my fucking piece! Drinking is one thing – it is hardly an uncommon vice, and no one would have taken note of it, were it not for his wife’s unfortunate habit of walking into doors.”  
“What?” I demanded. Agron and Nasir shushed me with one voice, their eyes wide – clearly the woman’s clumsiness held some deeper meaning.  
“She would often come into town to the market with black eyes, or a limp, or holding herself in such a way that her ribs or back gave her pain, and would always insist that she had fallen, or tripped, or some such nonsense. Who has ever walked into a door and blacked both their eyes?”  
Nasir and Agron looked sideways at each other. I was still mystified, but kept my own counsel, thinking that if I interrupted again I might be sent away.  
“And year on year, the farm produced less and less. He was borrowing money from Ulf for years – no one else would lend to him, for they knew he would never pay it back. They said it was a wasting illness that carried his wife off in the end, but it could as easily have been starvation. She would always rather go hungry than have him go without.”  
“And it was after she died that the man took his own life.”  
“Lenz had been spending all his days drinking and sleeping off drink. But after his wife died he ceased to do anything else. Grief, some said. I wondered if it wasn’t that without his wife to make him, he didn’t work the farm.”  
“Marna!”  
“Hush, husband. The end of it was, he was in great debt to Ulf – debt exceeding the value of his home and farm. The village elders ruled that the property should be given over to Ulf, and would have cast Lenz out, but I heard from Ulf’s wife that her husband had a different plan. He planned to take Lenz on as a labourer, have him keep his old house and work the same farm he always had, for a fair living.  
I don’t know. Whatever was to have happened to him, Lenz was found hanging in his barn. Perhaps it was pride – he couldn’t face that he had failed so completely that his home was to be taken from him. Perhaps it was grief over his wife. Perhaps Ulf had said to him that he couldn’t drink any more, and he could not face it. For whatever reason, Ulf found him dead in his barn, and people have been whispering ever since.”  
There was a long silence. Uncomfortable, I shuffled over to Nasir, and took his hand. My movement drew the grown-ups’ eyes, and I looked down, suddenly bashful.  
“What is your name, little girl?” the bowsmith’s wife asked.  
“Elena.” I mumbled, and Nasir had to restate my name so that she could hear.  
“A pretty name. Not so common around here.” She was looking at Nasir,  
“Is she yours?” she asked.  
“Ja.” Agron replied. “She is ours.” He turned to the bowsmith to continue their conversation, and Nasir knelt before me to wipe a smudge of dirt on my face, scolding me for getting dirty. The bowsmith’s wife retreated, and we did not see her again until we were leaving.  
“Elena!” she called, and I turned, seeing her approaching bearing something wrapped in a little cloth.  
“For you.” she said, holding it out. It was a little cake with honey on it. Taking it, I was about to bite into it when I was stopped by Nasir’s hand on my mouth.  
“Say thank you.” he prompted, when I turned to him, enraged.  
“Thank you.” I said to the lady.  
“You are welcome.” she replied.  
I looked up at Nasir, and he nodded at me to eat the cake. It was gone in three bites. It was delicious.

“Are we going to stay?” I asked, as we made our way home in the gathering dusk. Nasir looked sideways at me.  
“Are your legs tired? Do you need to be carried?”  
“No. Are we going to stay?”  
“Here? On the road? No.”  
“Are we going to stay in the Lenz house!”  
“Tonight we are.” Agron joined in.  
I stopped and stamped my foot.  
“Do not tease me!”  
“I think you are tired.”  
“Answer me!”  
“Hush, hush, sh-sh!” Nasir crouched in front of me.  
“We have not yet decided. We may, or we may not.”  
“When will you decide?”  
“Before spring.”  
“That is too long!”  
“It is not.” Nasir straightened up. “Come along. Darkness shall soon be upon us.”  
He began to walk away, but I remained where I was, my arms folded, scowling. Nasir turned back to me.  
“Or you could remain here. The wolves can have you for their supper. They get hungry in winter.”  
I scowled even harder but, after a moment, lifted up my arms to be carried. With a laugh, Nasir picked me up and set me on Agron’s back. I tightened my arms around his throat and he pretended to gag.  
“We should stay.” I whispered in his ear.  
“Hmm.” he said, non commitally.  
We stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Sorry it took so long. For some reason, writing this bit was like pulling teeth. There will be a sequel (which is half written) but I'll wait until I've finished it to start posting - it'll save me having to take so long between updates.
> 
> Also. When I started reading fanfic, I thought it was a bit overwrought when people gushed in the notes about how wonderful it was to get comments and kudos. I thought the writers were exagerrating how much it meant to them to be nice. I now think I was wrong.
> 
> Every time I get a notification that I've got kudos on one of my fics, it makes my day. When I get a comment, I get so excited I have to take a walk around the house to calm down before I reply. And even if you didn't kudos or comment - just watching the view counter go up makes me so happy. The most people who have ever read my stuff before is, like, three, so the fact that this fic has been read 700 odd times is overwhelming.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
